


Hold Your Head High Heavy Heart

by auntieshakespeare



Series: The lovers, the dreamers, and me [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Character Study, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 17:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16877316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auntieshakespeare/pseuds/auntieshakespeare
Summary: A series of snapshots of Shiro's life tracing his illness from diagnosis to the gladiatorial ring.





	Hold Your Head High Heavy Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Once again this fic was inspired by my conversations with minnowlet. "I'm gonna write you some Galra smut" I said and then 3k+ words later this became Shiro whump. We live to torture the ones we love, it seems.
> 
> Title and partial inspiration from "The Phrase That Pays" by The Academy Is...

It starts with pain.

Takashi wakes with a gasp, soaked through with sweat, right leg locked tight with a cramping, burning pain that feels like flames inside his muscles. A scream escapes his lips unbidden and it's all he can do to stop another one from forming. He curls into a ball, one arm kneading at the tender spot, trying desperately to ease the sensation, while the other arm is wrapped tight around his middle.

"Takashi?"

It's his father's voice, but the pain is too intense to react. He should look up, look his father in the eye but instead his entire world is now centered around holding himself together, tight and still. 

There's a quiet shuffling noise and then a hand on his shoulder. 

"Takashi, what's wrong? You're covered in sweat."

Through gritted teeth, he grunts "Sorry." 

Cool hands cup his flushed face and he pries his eyes open a sliver. His father's face is blurry from how hard he had squeezed his eyes shut, but the familiar features soothe just a little. His father will stop the pain. 

"Kashi, what's wrong? Are you in pain?" His father keeps his voice low, a deep calming rumble accompanied by calloused fingers carding through his hair. 

Tears spill from his eyes as everything releases--pain and fear and the grip of his fingers. He throws his arms around his father's neck and sobs. "It hurts so much."

"What hurts, Kashi?"

The pain flares again and he unleashes another scream, tears and snot pouring down his face. "It hurts Daddy it hurts so much. Make it stop please." He grabs frantically at his leg, too overwhelmed now to speak. His whole body draws taut as a flare of pain begins anew, spreading down both legs now, turning him from boy to live wire. 

The world turns white with pain and heat and then---

Darkness.

***

He wakes to the gentle hum of machinery accompanied by a quiet, steady beeping. He's groggy, can't immediately make out the noises he's hearing louder and louder as he shakes off unconsciousness.

"--but he's only six. You said the test was precautionary, that it wouldn't show anything. How is this possible?"

"These things happen, Mr. Shirogane. It's incredibly rare for a child to be diagnosed with this, but there are a few other recorded cases--"

"How old? How old were the others?"

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

"Mr. Shi--"

"How old?" His father sounds angry. It's unusual for his stoic father to raise his voice, but it's not entirely unfamiliar. On days when Takashi is feeling brave, he'll find an opening over dinner or after his bath and ask about his mother. _Where did she go? Why don't you like to talk about her?_ On good days his father will respond with pointed silence, ignoring the question. Other days he'll shout, red faced and instantly furious, right in his face. 

But this man didn't say anything about his mother.

There's a heavy sigh and the strange voice speaks. "The youngest was 17. And the case was not nearly as aggressive as Takashi's."

His father speaks again and he sounds so unlike the stern and quiet man Takashi knows. Voice cracking, he asks, "And how. How long do you think he has?"

As the last of the fog lifts from his eyes, Takashi watches a doctor put a hand on his father's shoulder and say, "If he's very lucky he'll make it to 18."

For the first time in his life, Takashi sees his father cry. 

***

It's not the first birthday Takashi has spent in the hospital, but is the first birthday he's actively wished to be anywhere else. At 12 years old, the pediatric wing of the university hospital is as familiar to him as his own home. Half his life he's wandered these halls, greeting doctors and nurses with a bowed head and a soft smile, greeting inquisitive medical students with cheery waves and encouragement for their upcoming exams.

He's never been a normal child, but today his unique circumstances have pushed him too far. His illness is rare and his particular case makes him something of a high profile case study. At this moment in time Takashi is wired from head to toe, part five of a seemingly infinite number of tests for his specialist. Sensor pads line his wiry frame, placed precisely in measured intervals along his arms, legs, and chest. Two more pads are affixed to his head, one on each temple, and all are to remain stuck to his body for a week. He's used to feeling like a guinea pig in a hospital gown, IVs in his arms feeding himhi pain medications, muscle relaxants, and saline to keep him from turning into a husk of pain when he has a bad flare up.

The issue is today he is perfectly fine.

Though he has spent much of the past six years of his life in and out of the hospital, today of all days he is pain free. Or, as pain free as he ever gets. And what is he doing on his Good Day? Eating ice cream cake with his dad? Having a Star Trek marathon in the living room? Building a ten foot snow man? No. He's curled up in a window seat in the day lounge of a hospital, wired up like a science experiment, watching snow fall over Chicago.

"That's a real hang dog face for such a handsome man."

The voice is bright and cheery and could belong to any number of Disney princesses, but upon investigation is seemingly attached to a small woman with alarmingly pink curly hair. She's thin the way that Takashi is, almost fragile in her size, but where he's thin from illness she appears vibrant and radiating with energy. Beside her stands a boy, already a head taller than her, the last vestiges of baby fat clinging to his cheeks. He's half hidden behind a towering stack of Tupperware and his oversized glasses, but he appears to be around Takashi's age. And. Well. There's something about him that's hard to look away from.

"Sweetcakes, are you okay? I mean, obviously you're wired like a phone line and this _is_ a hospital but...baby, you look awful lonesome," Pink Hair says, shifting her own impressive stack of Tupperware to get a better look at Takashi. "Are your parents here?"

He shakes his head. "No, it's just my dad and me and he works until 6. It's...it's my birthday and I had thought...well. It's fine. My name is Takashi, nice to meet you."

He offers her a hand to shake and she immediately shifts her boxes into the other boy's arms so that she can vigorously shake Takashi's hand. "I'm Hannah Weiss, this is my son Adam, it's wonderful to meet you sweetheart. Do you like chocolate?"

He does, in fact like chocolate, and says as much. Over the course of the next two hours that's more or less all he says because Hannah talks in one long winding thought at breakneck speed. It's...really comforting actually. She's not dominating the conversation, Adam butts in with regularity to make a wry remark or to tease his mother about her generally frazzled demeanor, but she directs the dialogue like she's a tour guide to happy thoughts. Hannah is an amateur sculptor and works out of her home as a therapist. Her mountain of Tupperware is full of fudge for the patients in the pediatric ward, a tradition she started this year ("I don't think you can call it a tradition the first time you do it, Mom" Adam says fondly before stealing the last piece of fudge from under Takashi's fingers. Both of their faces flush a deep red and Hannah cackles). She's married to a lawyer ("Deborah, love of my life, Skipper to my Gilligan.") and they live mere blocks from Takashi and his father. 

By the time their bubble is burst, Takashi feels like he's known the Weiss's his whole life. 

"Sorry to interrupt," comes a lightly accented voice to his left, a small tan hand resting gently on his knee. "Dr. Kittleson needs you for testing now Kashi."

He nods and stiffly attempts to get down from his perch in the window. Adam, Hannah, and Eneida, his favorite nightshift nurse all move to catch him as he stumbles, but he steadies himself and stretches, shaking off the stiffness. 

"Don't forget, Kashi baby, you're invited to our house for Purim, so ask your dad about it. If you get bored this week, just call me or Adam and we'll come by ASAP," Hannah says, squeezing him into a hug that seems impossibly strong for someone so tiny. "You're a great kiddo."

She releases him, leaving him and Adam to stare at each other awkwardly for a moment before bursting into laughter and hugging as well. 

"Thanks for hanging out with me today."

Adjusting his glasses, Adam shrugs, a small smile on his lips. It's incredibly charming and even though Takashi knows he's about to spend an hour doing exhausting physical tests for his doctor, he knows this smile alone is going to carry him through. 

"Happy birthday, Takashi."

It's not often American tongues say his name with such grace. Takashi could stand to hear it again.

***

Everything is great. 

No, he can't remember the last time he ate or refilled his medication pump and yes, his shoulders are starting to cramp up in a way that should remind him that his body is deteriorating unfairly young, but everything is great. Really.

Adam doesn't seem to agree.

"Takashi" he shouts, emphasis on the _ka_ , hard and furious as he storms down the long tiled hallway towards his boyfriend. Shiro is shrugging on his new varsity jacket, struggling with the sleeves in his excitement. 

"Adam hey!" 

He's met with fingers buried in the fabric of his uniform shirt, yanking him off balance, the stormy countenance of Adam's face up close and very personal. 

"What are you playing at Takashi?"

He could play dumb, pretend he doesn't understand the source of his boyfriend's ire, but the only person in this school smarter than Shiro is Adam and he has a notion that his act wouldn't go over well.

"Look I'm--"

"An idiot? An asshole? _Suicidal_? Tell me, Takashi what are you?"

Most people don't wear angry well, the contorted expressions of rage twisting their looks into ugly caricatures of who they normally are, but Adam is the exception to most rules. He is _beautiful_ in fury. The blood red flush that paints his cheeks when he's particularly unimpressed and about to get quite loud about it is the same red that Shiro admires mid-orgasm, the furrow of his brow cut like fine marble.

The lights sparkling around his head as he shouts only add to the picture.

He expected anger, but he's still caught off guard by the confrontation. "No Adam, I'm not suicidal. Can't you just be happy for me?"

The answering snort is also expected, but hurts just the same. "Happy? That you're throwing everything away for the damn baseball team? Shockingly no, I'm not happy about that."

"If this is about you thinking I'm going to break my other commitments I promise you--"

The laugh that rips out of Adam's chest is a dark, hollow thing. "No Takashi that's not my concern. I _wish_ you would break some of your commitments. Your commitments, in fact, are the problem. Speech, Decathlon, Astronomy Club, NHS, Aviation Club, weightlifting, and now baseball? That would be a lot for--"

Pain streaks across Shiro's chest. Betrayal. He feels his shoulders stiffen, tense with disbelief at the words left unsaid. Everyone else in Shiro's life treats him like he's some fragile thing, a delicate waif from a Romantic poem ready to collapse into a pool of his own blood if the wind blows too hard, but never Adam. He gasps out a pained breath, unleashes.

"For what, Adam?" He can't believe this. His head is pounding and his heart is racing and his boyfriend is about to say the one word he considers a betrayal. "For a healthy person? Newsflash, I am as healthy as I am ever going to get. If I don't do this now I'm never going to. Not all of us have perfect lives."

To his credit, Adam does look regretful for what he said, but Shiro's head is swimming suddenly and his regret is quickly morphing into something blurry? The lights are getting brighter, covering Adam's face entirely and the floor disappears beneath his feet as--

***

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

His eyes are heavy, body heavier still. He feels simultaneously like he's sinking and floating, a side effect of the heavy duty meds Dr. Kittleson keeps him on during a serious flare up. Strapped to his face is an oxygen mask and that's both new and frightening. He wants to rip it off, but he feels buried, like his whole body is covered in dripping cement, so he leaves it for now. One arm holds the familiar sensation of a needle dug just under skin, IVs flooding blissful amounts of pain medication into his veins. The other arm finds familiarity in the grip of a hand in his.

He doesn't need to open his eyes. There's only one person it could be. 

"Hey baby," he rasps, voice muffled beneath the mask.

There's a sigh, quivery and relieved. "Takashi--"

"Adam, 'm sorry. Should've. Listened. "

A new voice, sharp and authoritative cuts in, "That's for damn sure. What were you thinking, son?"

It stings, just a little, because it's not his father asking. His father has been out of town for three weeks, incommunicado for two. Opening his eyes as much as he is able, Shiro sees before him the towering figure of Deborah Weiss. Nearly six feet tall, with an unflinching nature befitting her 25 years as an attorney, Adam's other mother holds just as much power over Shiro as her son. 

"Okaasan." It's all he can manage. It's all he needs.

Deborah drops down beside Adam, her hand joining her son's over Shiro's. Less fogged by exhaustion now, he can see the redness of her eyes, the tear tracks down her tan face, the way her cheeks and the graceful hook of her nose are flushed with emotion.

"You nearly died, Takashi. You gave us all a scare. This isn't going to become a lecture, but I still need you to listen to me, okay?" She touches his face, gently wiping away the tears that had begun streaking down his cheeks. He nods at Deborah, the slightest bob and she presses a soft kiss against his forehead before sitting back down beside Adam. "We know how special you are, how grand your goals are. They're great because of you, but you can't accomplish them if you're dead. You need to pace yourself, listen to your body. I know it feels good to be Shiro, peacekeeper of the student council, academic superstar, and Varsity Letterman, but you must remember to just be Takashi sometimes too. Takashi is worthy of care and there's no shame in giving him some."

Her hand squeezes around his and Adam's and he blinks, slow and deliberate in acknowledgment. _Yes, Okaasan._

The three of them sit in silence, the ambient sounds of the hospital lulling them into a calm meditation, broken suddenly by the return of Adam's furious disbelief.

"How did you even pass a physical to get on the team?" he asks, voice sour, but pitched low to keep some semblance of peace.

"I'd like to know that too, actually." Deborah adds, one thick eyebrow arched.

Slowly, Shiro moves the mask away from his mouth, pushing it down towards his chin. He sighs and then laughs a little, a wheezing sound that has mother and son alike looking two seconds from shoving it back onto his face, question be damned.

"I have this... friend," he starts, tone colored with amusement and Adam frowns.

"Not that kid from space camp!"

Deborah snorts and Shiro can only grin because, "Matt. Yes. From space camp. He's a tech genius, good forger too."

Adam's frown deepens further. "He's also the one who has you convinced that you need to go to the Galaxy Garrison to live out your pilot fantasies." 

"Adam." Hannah's voice cuts across the room, a thunderclap on a sunny day. She stands in the doorway, eyes tired, pink curls frizzy and wild. "There's a time and a place for this. Now is not it."

It hits Shiro how badly he's fucked up to have this family so out of sorts. Uncompromising Deborah, crying. Bubbly Hannah, stern. Adam, causing strife instead of fixing it. He's selfish, how can he be so selfish? The room is suffocating suddenly and he wants to be alone or curled up in his dad's lap, young and naive. He wants Adam's fingers carding through his sex-damp hair. He wants to be dead oh god but it's too late for that, he's too intwined in the Weiss' lives now and--

Tears leak out of his eyes as his heart monitor beeps faster and faster with his growing panic. 

Adam breaks. "Takashi please. I am so sorry. I love you. I love you and I know, I _know_. You deserve happiness, you deserve to explore the universe baby please just. You need to be alive to do it."

Shiro's heart is still pounding uncontrollably in his chest, but the creeping edge of panic is receding. Deborah wraps her arms around Adam's shoulders as he rests his face against Shiro's hand. Hannah moves to the end of the bed, rubbing Shiro's ankle through the blanket, pressure deep and soothing.

Nothing more is said. 

Shiro has been motherless since nearly birth, more or less fatherless since puberty and those are aches he knows he's going to carry and scratch at forever. Now, though, weak from overexertion and stuck full of needles, but warm in the embrace of a family who accepts him, who loves him and refuses to let him forget it. Well that's a pain he can live with.

***

It started with pain. 

It looks like it's going to end that way too.

As Shiro is dragged across the dirt floor of an alien fighting ring halfway across the universe from his home, he hears a voice ringing in his ears. 

_Don't expect me to be here when you come back._

It's fine. He'll keep on fighting, take as many blows as he can. Pain doesn't faze him the same way it does other people. He'll fight and he'll bleed and he'll win. He'll bear it all until he can escape. Then he can find the Holts, go home, find Keith and Adam, Deborah and Hannah and--

He's struck so quickly it's impossible to describe the sensation. There's no end to the pain though, so at least that's familiar. Shiro lays bleeding on the ground, his own arm lying ten feet away from him and he heaves out gasping breaths, trying to calm himself and failing.

Maybe this is the end.

But before he can choke out one last apology, a group of masked figures glide out into the stadium straight for him. They carry him away, whispering praise and shame alike, promising to make him glorious. 

_A true Champion_ one spits.

"What about the pain?" he asks, delirious with blood loss, slipping towards shock. "It's all I have."

 _You haven't felt pain yet,_ says another, as they settle him onto an operating table. _But you will learn._

He is the perfect student.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this unbeta'd nightmare.


End file.
